


Flufftober 2020

by musicprincess1990



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: All Sherlolly, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Romance, Various Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicprincess1990/pseuds/musicprincess1990
Summary: **ON HIATUS** Found a list of prompts on Tumblr, and decided to give it a shot. One chapter per day, each chapter title is the prompt for the day. Not connected, all stand-alone. And all Sherlolly!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	1. In the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I have always wanted to write Potter!lock, but never found the right inspiration. Until now! HOLLA!!

Molly gasped as she heard a rustle of movement from the shadows to her left. It had taken all her courage to finally come out here, after seven full years at Hogwarts. She was certainly no Gryffindor. As if there had been any doubt, what with the Sorting Hat's immediate shout of "HUFFLEPUFF!" before it had fully settled on her head, and the nervous stammering that plagued her every time she was called upon in class. There was a reason the majority of the scope school had taken to calling her "Mousy Hooper."

The rustling came back, and she let out a squeak ( _Oh Merlin, I really am mousy_ ), stepping backwards away from the sound. Trust her to get into trouble when she finally worked up the nerve to see the place for herself. She gripped her wand tightly as she whispered, " _Lumos_."

In the glow of her wandlight, a face appeared, one she knew almost as well as she knew her own.

"H-Holmes?"

Sherlock Holmes, a Ravenclaw in her year, lifted an imperious brow. "Hooper," he replied.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," he countered.

She frowned at him. "I... I asked you first."

Holmes rolled his eyes, but answered her question without argument. "I was visiting Hagrid earlier, he gave me a few flobberworms to experiment on. I'd just started to make my way back up to the castle when I saw you."

Molly blinked a few times. "So... you followed me?"

"Purely out of curiosity," he explained. "You aren't the type to break the rules, far too afraid of being caught. I assumed you must have had a good reason to come out here after dark." That eyebrow shot up again as he regarded her, obviously waiting for her to explain.

She looked down at her toes, hesitating. She barely knew Holmes, only saw him in classes, and had never spoken to him directly before this. Despite that, she... well, she had a bit of a crush on him. He was fit, _really_ fit, and smarter than anyone she'd ever known. He had a talent for seeing things no one else did, and often said his observations out loud. Some of them were... less than flattering. Most of the other students hated him for it. But Molly found him fascinating.

"Well?" his voice cut through her thoughts.

Somehow, she gathered enough courage to answer his question. "My parents... had their first kiss here," she said in a small voice. She glanced at a nearby tree, gesturing toward it with her head. He turned his head and saw the initials within a heart carved into the rough bark. "Those are their initials. My, erm... my mum died when I was little, but my dad told me stories about her. My favorite was the story of this place." She smiled down at her shoes. "He used to say it felt more magical to him than the whole castle."

Holmes was quiet for a moment, then, in a softer tone than she'd ever heard from him, he said, "He died last summer."

Her eyes shot up to meet his in surprise. "H-how did you know that?"

"You said 'used to,'" he explained. "If he were still alive, you would have spoken in the present tense. Also, if he'd died during the school year, you would have been absent from classes, but you haven't missed a day, and you were here for both Christmas and Easter holidays. So, he died before the year started."

Molly stared, her mouth hanging open. He was right, of course, but that fact didn't surprise her nearly as much as one observation of his.

"How do you know I haven't missed a day?"

He hesitated one second too long, and even in the dim glow emanating from the tip of her wand, she could swear his ears turned a little pink. "I... have excellent observational skills."

An uncharacteristic wave of boldness washed over her, and she took a step forward. His brow furrowed, but he didn't move away from her, which she took as a good sign. "So... you've been watching me?"

He scoffed, averting his eyes. "Of course not. I simply... noticed."

"Then you know how many days the others have missed?"

He blinked and swallowed as she took another step, looking rather like a deer in the headlights. "Er... the others?"

"Our classmates?" Another step. His nostrils flared slightly as he drew in a breath. "I mean, I know you don't watch all of them, but surely you've noticed at least one or two."

She was toe-to-toe with him now, having to crane her neck to keep her eyes on his face. He worked his mouth, scrambling for some kind of excuse. "Well, I've... that is... I'm not..."

His eyes landed on her face just as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and something in his eyes shifted. He swallowed again, and muttered, "Sod it," before leaning forward and capturing her lips with his.

Molly sucked in a breath at the unexpected contact, and then her mind went blank. His lips were warm and soft, and she was surrounded by the smell of parchment and ginger nuts. She would never again have to wonder what Amortentia would smell like for her. His hands found her waist, and hers lifted to card through his surprisingly soft curls. As they stood there, wrapped up in each other and getting acquainted with the taste of one another, Molly understood what her father had been talking about.

This place _was_ magic.


	2. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may come a day when I am not inspired by TFP, but it is not this day! This day, I write! …about TFP. (Also, this ended up more angsty than fluffy. But it’s still got a bit of fluff in there.)

It was half one in the morning when the doorbell woke Molly from a fitful sleep. She tried to ignore it, knowing only one person who would show up at her door at this hour, and she wasn’t exactly keen on seeing him at the moment. Her eyes still stung from the tears she had shed only hours before, after he’d demanded that she bare her soul for him. Oh, but she’d made him do the same, in a sense. She didn’t think he was _in_ love with her, but she knew him well enough to know he did love her, in his own way. Not the way she wanted, but in the only way he was capable of loving another person. And she’d needed to hear it, needed that verbal confirmation that she really did matter.

Well, she’d gotten it. And then, after she finally said the stupid words, he went and bloody hung up on her.

That’s how things were with him, had been from the start. He took and took and took, and rarely gave back. And God help her, she loved him anyway.

The doorbell sounded again, and Molly grumbled, but threw the blankets off her and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She continued to grumble as she slid her feet into her slippers and pulled a dressing gown over her pyjamas, and didn’t stop grumbling until she reached the front door. Scowl firmly in place, she yanked the door open… and was promptly knocked over.

“Wha— _oof!_ ”

As her back hit the floor, she finally processed what happened. Sherlock had been leaning on the door, putting his full weight on it, and then Molly had opened the door, and he collided with her. However, he apparently had enough presence of mind to make sure he collapsed _beside_ her, instead of _on_ her. He groaned as he shifted, raising himself up on his hands and knees. “You alright?” he asked, his voice pitched low and a bit hoarse.

“I’m okay,” she replied, sitting up slowly. Sherlock righted himself, leaning against the wall, head still bowed. “Are you?”

Sherlock finally lifted his head, and Molly’s jaw actually dropped. He looked _awful_. Well, he was still as gorgeous as ever, but he looked like he’d been awake for days, and he had either been crying, or had been hit with some pepper spray. The haunted expression on his face suggested the former, and the quiet sniffle (did he really just _sniffle?!_ ) confirmed it.

“No,” he said, his voice cracking a bit. “I’m not okay.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said those words to her, wasn’t even the second time. And just like the other times, all thoughts fled until the only one remaining was, _I have to help him_. The same question escaped her lips on a whisper, “What do you need?”

His lips trembled as he tried to smile. “You,” he answered. “Always, _you_.”

And then she saw it. Shining through his eyes, clouded though they were with tears, she saw _love_. _Not the way I want_ , she thought at first, the words having become some kind of ridiculous mantra in her head... but then she remembered what he himself had said about attraction, and she began to see those signs in him. Dilated pupils, change in breathing pattern, elevated pulse—well, she couldn’t _see_ that one, but somehow, she didn’t really need to. She just _knew_. And if those signs weren’t enough, there was the raw honesty, the vulnerability, in his gaze.

He loved her. He really, properly _loved_ her.

Slowly, with great caution, Molly scooted closer to him, never breaking eye contact as she moved. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, and the beautiful blue-green of his eyes gave way to the deep black of his pupils, even wider now than they were before. Wordlessly, she pulled him into her arms, and he clung to her like his life depended on it, his face pressed into the crook of her neck. He trembled against her, and she moved onto his lap, knowing instinctively that he needed to hold her just as much as he needed to be held. Sure enough, his long arms enveloped her, almost able to wrap twice around her, and he crushed her to him. _Ah, there’s the elevated pulse_ , she mused, feeling his heartbeat even through the layers of clothing that separated them.

Molly didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but eventually, his grip on her loosened and his trembling eased. Bit by bit, her memories of the day returned to her, and she leaned back just far enough to meet his eyes. His expression hadn’t changed much, perhaps a touch more relaxed, but still _haunted_.

“What happened?” she breathed.

Sherlock gave a hollow laugh. “So much… I don’t… God, I hardly know where to begin…”

“The beginning is usually a good place.”

“Don’t make jokes, Molly,” he said predictably, then his eyes squeezed shut. “I-I’m sorry, I…”

Molly silenced him by placing her thumb over his lips, while the tips of her fingers danced across his cheekbone. He swallowed again. “I like to think I’m not so fragile that I would be offended by something like that. Besides,” she added with a grin, “I think you secretly like my jokes.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps,” he mumbled, his breath warming her thumb and reminding her that she still held it there. She slid her thumb to the side, then made to lift her hand off his face entirely, only to be stopped by _his_ hand holding it in place. He studied her for a moment before speaking again. “I’m uncertain of many things after tonight… but the one thing that remains set in stone is that I don’t deserve you.”

“Well, yeah,” she shrugged, and his eyes narrowed. She laughed softly at the pout that formed on his lips. “Lucky for you, I’m a bit of a masochist.”

“True,” he allowed. “I’m hardly the _worst_ man you’ve dated.”

“Oh, we’re dating now, are we?” she teased.

Sherlock pulled her close again, and their foreheads touched. “I’m not entirely sure _what_ to call this, but… I do… love you,” he admitted haltingly.

Molly smiled. “I know. Nice to hear it, though.”

His hand drifted up to cradle her face. “Might take some time to get used to saying it. But I will,” he added hastily.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, leaning even closer to him, her lips just barely brushing against him. “I’m very patient.”

Sherlock, it seemed, was _not_. She barely managed to get the words out before his lips very firmly attached themselves to hers. Kissing Sherlock was everything she’d hoped it would be. He was unyielding, almost bruising her lips in the most delightful way, while his hands drifted across her back. A fire ignited inside her at his touch, unlike anything she’d ever felt, and she knew it would be only too easy to surrender to the flames. But Molly sensed his hesitancy, and his exhaustion, so she pushed gently on his chest. Their mouths separated, and a furrow appeared between half-lidded eyes. “I think you'd better get some rest. A good night’s sleep, and a hot breakfast in the morning would do you good.”

“Oh… right,” he muttered, looking disappointed. “Well… Baker Street isn’t quite set to rights, but I’m sure John—”

She giggled, drawing his attention back to her. “I meant _here_ , Sherlock. A good night’s sleep _here…_ with me.”

He relaxed instantly, his body going slack and his eyes falling shut. “Oh, thank God!”

Molly pressed another kiss to his lips, then rose to her feet and moved toward her bedroom, with Sherlock close behind. He shed his coat and jacket, followed by his shoes, then collapsed onto the bed beside Molly, once again pulling her into his arms. Her back met his chest, and the rightness of it nearly brought tears to her eyes. There were still conversations to be had, explanations to be made, but they could all wait until morning. For now, they settled into the comfort of one another’s embrace, and drifted into an easy slumber.


	3. But You Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been reading a lot of Soulmate AU lately, so that’s what came to mind for this one. Hope you like it!

“But you said—”

“I know,” he cut her off gently. Slowly, he re-fastened the buttons of his shirt, blocking the distinctive mark on his skin over his heart. The mark that identically matched her own. Once he’d finished, his hands reached out and tenderly cradled her head. “I was wrong… it was selfish of me, and I am… so very sorry,” he finished, his voice cracking with emotion.

Molly swallowed thickly, her eyes beginning to mist. She blinked away the tears, wanting to see him clearly, but couldn’t quite bring herself to speak. After years of being shunned by the only man she’d ever loved, shunned and discarded, ignored and underestimated… and now he was her soulmate! No, he always had been, but now he chose to make it known to her. She wondered how he’d found out, and what had changed his mind. For he had always scoffed at the whole concept, declaring that he would never fall in love, soulmate or no. Now, here he stood in her sitting room, telling her he’d loved her all along, that he wanted to give her everything she’d ever hoped for… it seemed absolutely impossible.

“Forgive me,” Sherlock pleaded, bringing her out of her thoughts. His eyes searched hers, flickering between them. “ _Please,_ Molly… forgive me for being so blind.”

The tears came back ten-fold, and she was powerless to stop them. She sniffled quietly as she, in turn, searched his gaze for any dishonesty, any evidence of manipulation. When she found nothing but sincerity, she actually _laughed_. The giggle that burst from her lips was incredulous, joyful, giddy. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed, but his eyes remained wide and hopeful. Oh, how she would love to kiss that little pucker between his eyes, but she forced herself to be patient, and remembered she still had to answer him.

“Of course,” she whispered. “Of course I forgive you, you impossible man!”

The smile she was rewarded with shone more brightly than the sun on a clear summer’s day. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, his fingers shifting into her hair, loose and still damp from her shower.

“I promise not to waste another day,” he murmured, his low voice rumbling through her and setting her aflame. “From this point on… I am yours.”

Another watery laugh escaped her, and she lifted a hand to stroke his jaw. “And I am _yours_.”

And then finally, _finally_ , their lips met, and Molly could swear she felt the earth tremble beneath them. His hands left her face as he wound his arms tightly around her, pulling her flush against him. Hers found their way around his neck, the movement as natural to her as breathing. Although, when his tongue flicked against her lips, seeking entrance into her mouth, she found that her breath didn’t come so easily. They stood for several minutes, tasting and exploring one another, before separating for some much-needed oxygen. Their eyes met, and Molly smiled up at him, twining her fingers with his as she lead him to her bedroom. In the coming hours, as they consummated their bond (three times, to Molly’s delight... and Sherlock’s too), they both had the very same thought.

Nothing had ever felt so right.


	4. Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another of my favorite tropes: Sherlock going BAT. SHIT. CRAZY. When someone hurts his Molly. *maniacal laugh*

“You’re absolutely certain?”

Dr. Jones gave a tight smile. “Yes, Mr. Holmes, I am. All the tests came back normal.”

“Tests can be inadequate, equipment can malfunction—”

“ _Mr. Holmes!_ ” she cut him off loudly, then gave a barely noticeable wince at her tone and volume. Molly cringed a bit herself; Adelaide Jones had been hand-picked by Mycroft, highly recommended for her lengthy experience and great patience. And yet, Sherlock was enough to test even _her_ limits, and certainly seemed to be doing so now. “I can assure you, we have been extremely thorough.”

“Yes, Sherlock, I’m _fine_ ,” Molly laid a reassuring hand on her husband’s arm. “We both are,” she added, her free hand cradling her swollen belly.

Truth be told, Molly had been concerned as well. The accident (well, _intentional_ accident, caused by a criminal that Sherlock had already caught and was being “dealt with,” according to Mycroft) had done little more than give her whiplash and an impressive goose egg above her left eyebrow. But she hadn’t been concerned about _herself_. She was well into her second trimester, chances of miscarriage were far lower at this point, but she’d wanted to be sure. And so had Sherlock, though apparently he would be harder to convince.

Dr. Jones went on, her voice back to its usual calm. “The baby’s vital signs are normal, he or she seems perfectly healthy. We’ve kept Mrs. Holmes overnight for observation, per your request, and aside from you terrorizing my nurses, no serious harm has been done.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, then took a slow, deep breath through his nose. “Very well. Thank you, Dr. Jones.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she smiled, then turned to Molly. “I’ll go and get that discharge paperwork ready. Back in a few.” And with a last smile, she left the room.

“I’m going to call John,” he muttered, already pulling out his phone.

Molly rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Sherlock, he is going to tell you the exact same thing!”

“Oh, please!” he scoffed. “Are we talking about the same John Watson? You saw how he was with Mary when she was carrying Rosie. He hovered over her constantly, followed her every move, and asked her endless probing questions about her diet, her ankles, her frequency of urination—”

“Sounds familiar,” she grumbled.

He stilled. “I haven’t been doing that.”

“ _Yes_ , you bloody well have!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but caught the no-nonsense look on his wife’s face. The same look she used on Rosie whenever they were minding her. And dammit, she was right. He sighed heavily, sitting in the abysmal chair beside Molly’s bed. “I’m sorry.”

She sought his hand out with her own and twined their fingers together. “I’m not angry with you, Sherlock. Really, it just proves how important we are to you.”

“You are,” he said, his voice soft but fervent. “Molly, if anything happened to you…” He trailed off, shaking his head and swallowing hard.

Molly lifted the hand that held his and pressed a kiss to his fingers. “But it _didn’t_. I’m fine, baby’s fine, and we’re both ready to go home.”

He paused, considering this for a moment. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind?” She smiled and shook her head. Sherlock nodded, and with another sigh, finally relaxed. He nudged her gently in the side, and she carefully shifted over, leaving him enough room to perch himself on the edge of the bed. Once seated, he bent and kissed her slowly, tenderly, almost reverently, then rested his head against hers. “Well… Dr. Jones _did_ miss one thing.”

“Hmm, and what’s that?”

Sherlock beamed and pressed another kiss to her lips. “It’s a boy."


End file.
